


the coming of the day

by newlyentwined (bluedreaming)



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Best Friends, Gen, Growing Up Together, M/M, References to Illness, Travel, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8072245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/pseuds/newlyentwined
Summary: BamBam always visited the boy in the apartment a floor down from where his family lived. Apart from the times he was away with his family, travelling, he never missed a day.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Youngjae_fic_fest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Youngjae_fic_fest) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  "youngjae, one day if i managed to get you out from your house, let's go live somewhere far away from Seoul?" youngjae smiles at this. "okay."  
> \--  
> "and he left you just like that?" yugyeom looks at bambam. "yeah." he glances out to window of yugyeom's car. "just like that."
> 
> rating: any rating  
> extra points: slow burn, growing up together, unrequited crush, best friends, traveller
> 
> [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/haikui020593/playlist/5wo1bHXk4ccBbOxJha3gIV)

 

 _"One day I will find the right words,_  
 _and they will be simple."_  
  
―Jack Kerouac [1]

 

 

The breeze is cool as Bambam walks along the sidewalk, the loose end of his scarf flapping behind his coat; he tucks his chin down into the wool and breathes in the smell of autumn. The leaves of the maple trees lining the road are aflame in yellows, oranges and vibrant reds, waving in the wind, whispering as they bid their fellow friends farewell and escape with the the air currents that carry them up into the sky, soaring across the cityscape and the river a few streets over.

He glances down at the carpet of leaves covering the sidewalk, crunching beneath his feet. For every leaf that escapes the vicinity of its tree, another floats quietly down to disintegrate only a few steps away from its origin.

Bambam likes autumn, the crispness of the air, the slow decline into the quiet of winter, the organized chaos of all the students heading back to school after a summer of crowding the streets, the parks, the airports. He likes the autumn specials, pumpkin ice cream and lattes and pumpkin pies and tarts in the bakeries that he ducks into on his way to work, emerging with a sweet-smelling brown bag tucked beneath his.

Autumn also reminds him of a particular friend of his, the memory sweet but retaining a little sharpness, the spice of cinnamon that cuts a custard too soft without it. Old wounds heal slowly, and first loves never quite stop smouldering.

 

 

BamBam always visited the boy in the apartment a floor down from where his family lived. Apart from the times he was away with his family, travelling, he never missed a day.

"Hello Youngjae's mother," he'd always say to the camera after ringing the bell, "I'm here to see Youngjae." She'd open the door after a few moments, the time needed to reach it from wherever she happened to be in the house, and the cheery electronic voice would announce that the door was now open as BamBam stepped into the entranceway and toed off his shoes. The front alcove in his own family's apartment was always a chaos of shoes and boots and umbrellas, but the Choi family kept everything neatly lined up behind a frosted door, the shoes and boots neatly on angled shelves and the umbrellas gathered together in their own stand. Bambam liked it.

"Hi Youngjae!" he'd call, careful not to run in someone else's house, but making up for it by bouncing on his heels as he'd head directly to his friend's room. He could always tell what kind of day it was—depending on whether Youngjae was sitting at his desk, doing the schoolwork the outreach teacher would bring him, maybe even dressed in jeans and a t-shirt if it was a really good day, or lying in bed, propped up on pillows—and adjust his tone of voice accordingly.

But no matter what Youngjae was feeling like that day, BamBam would sit beside him on the bed or at the desk and tell him all about the day, and maybe about what place he'd just been to, or what place he and his family were going to go to next.

"I wish I could bring you along," BamBam would always say, his tone regretful, but Youngjae would shake his head.

"You bring the world with you when you come to see me," he would say, and smile, and that was enough.

BamBam would never tell him that the best part of the world, to him at least, was that, here in this apartment, there was always a Youngjae waiting to share it with him.

 

 

His hands are tucked in his pockets; he can feel the buzzing of his phone against his fingertips before the sound even reaches his ears.

BamBam stops walking for a moment, just closes his eyes lets himself feel this moment of potential: the chance that, any time someone tries to contact him, it might be Youngjae.

Until he takes the phone out of his pocket, reads the name on the screen, it might be Youngjae. Schrödinger's cat, for the digital age.

The phone buzzes for the fourth time and BamBam scoops it up with his fingers, lifts it to his ear without looking at the screen.

"Hello, BamBam speaking," he says, and waits for the reply. _The proof of the pudding is in the eating._

"Hi, this is Yugyeom from Redfly." The voice is familiar, and the name places the caller as someone from work; after a moment BamBam places him.

"Oh right, hi Yugyeom," he says. "You're the one who's managing the new artist, the one with the postcard line for autumn."

"Yes," Yugyeom agrees. "Hwa Shieun. I was supposed to deliver the new portfolio to you today, but you aren't in the office so I thought I'd call in case I can drop it off somewhere convenient to you."

BamBam hasn't worked with Yugyeom in person, so he's not sure what he's like, but he sounds nice enough.

"I've actually taken the day off," BamBam says, and then adds quickly over Yugyeom's apology, "But I'm done with my errands so if you have time we could meet at Strange Boulder. I think you probably know that coffee shop?"

"Yes, I'll be there soon," Yugyeom confirms over the line, his voice crystal clear. Sometimes BamBam misses the static. "Thanks for taking the time to do this."

"I'm looking forward to seeing the portfolio," BamBam says, hanging up with the partial truth weighing in his mouth. It's true, but it's not the whole truth. On autumn days like this, there's too much Youngjae in the air, and he needs to pull himself out of his own thoughts.

 

 

". . . and then we went to see the Frauenkirche, which is supposedly really famous because they rebuilt it after the firebombing at the end of World War II, but I actually liked the St. Martin's Cathedral a lot more," BamBam explained, gesturing with his hands, his eyes darting from Youngjae's eager expression to the walls, over which his memories were superimposed as he recalled everything from his family's latest trip. "The Frauenkirche looks like of like a wedding cake, you know the ones with too much fondant and icing, all pastels and pudding and in the end it tastes like cardboard?"

He paused for a moment, biting his bottom lip; perhaps Youngjae had never had a cake like that. But Youngjae just laughed, and nodded along.

"Yeah, I think I know what you mean," he said, and BamBam's shoulders relaxed as he slumped a little in relief where he was sitting on the side of Youngjae's bed. He'd been able to tell right away when he'd gotten there that it wasn't a great day; Youngjae's face was pale, and his hair was limp, lying in crumpled tangles over his forehead.

Youngjae seemed to have the most bad days when BamBam had been gone for a while, travelling and unable to visit him every day, but the only time BamBam had suggested not going away with his family, Youngjae had given him such a look that he'd never suggested it again.

"If you don't see the world," he'd said then, "who will come and tell me everything?"

BamBam examined Youngjae's face carefully out of the corner of his eye now, and was relieved to see that his friend was looking, if not exactly better, then at least a lot more vibrant. He was grinning, sitting up more instead of lying against the pillows, and his cheeks were slightly flushed with excitement.

BamBam wasn't in elementary school anymore; he was sixteen years old and sometimes he wondered what would happen if he would lean over and kiss Youngjae, like the high school students he'd seen in the Hague during his family's summer trip. He didn't though; he didn't know what Youngjae would do, and he didn't want to ruin anything.

"Youngjae," he said instead, "one day when you can leave the apartment, let's go live somewhere far away from here."

"Promise?" Youngjae asked, reaching for Bambam's sleeve, his fingers grazing skin. BamBam hid a shiver at the sensation, goosebumps rising on his arm.

"Promise," he said.

 

 

The door to Strange Boulder has a tiny assortment of hanging bells that plays a tune over BamBam's head as he steps into the eclectic coffee shop. He likes it, a reminder to live in the moment. He takes a deep breath, smelling the sweetness of sugar, the darkness of coffee and the richness of pumpkin.

"Over here," a voice calls from his right, and BamBam turns slightly to see a tall young man half standing next to a window booth, the clear autumn sun casting pale light over the surface of the table, where BamBam can see the distinctive buff colour of a manila folder.

"Nice to meet you in person," BamBam says, extending a hand across the table. Yugyeom's hand is pleasantly warm, completely unremarkable apart from his understated but still clearly present manicure.

"My pleasure," Yugyeom nods before they both sit. "I got you a pumpkin latte," he explains, gesturing to the cup closest to BamBam, " but if you'd prefer something else just let me know."

"No, this is great," BamBam reassures him. "Thanks." He flips open the cover of the folder, and glances at the whimsical drawings in bright colours. It looks like a travel series, the grinning bear and rabbit protagonists of the series popping their heads up from the scenes of many historical or famous landmarks around the world.

It's a strange feeling, sitting here, realizing that he's been to most if not all of them, realizing that he's told Youngjae about every single one.

"Are they okay?" Yugyeom asks, his voice a little hesitant, and BamBam realizes that he's just been staring silently at the illustrations for far too long. He shakes his head.

"These are wonderful," he says, smiling across the table, and watching Yugyeom's shoulders relax in obvious relief. "It just made me think of an old friend, that's all."

 

 

The summer before BamBam was about to start university, Youngjae's doctor found a new course of treatment, some experimental medication that hadn't been available before, and Youngjae started having more and more good days.

"I think I'm really going to get better," he said every time BamBam came, and BamBam would nod, smiling and happy to see Youngjae with more energy, sitting at his desk, fingers flipping through travel magazines instead of his schoolwork.

"Maybe you'll be able to go to university," BamBam said, on the best day he'd seen yet. Youngjae, in jeans and a shirt, socks and slippers, wasn't even in his room at all, but sitting on the sofa in the living room, watching the birds flying in the sky beyond the balcony.

"No," Youngjae said, surprising BamBam with the firmness in his voice as he turned to look at his friend. "When I get out of here, I'm not going to be stuck in a building ever again."

BamBam opened his mouth, and then closed it again, not sure what to say.

"You said we would live together, far away from here," Youngjae said, his gaze trapping BamBam's, unable to look away. "You promised."

"We will," BamBam said finally, his heart pounding in his throat. "But I have to go to university first." His fingers ached to reach over, tangle his fingers together with Youngjae's, but he kept them anchored in his pockets.

Youngjae didn't say anything, just turned away again to stare once more at the sky.

 

 

"Do you want me to give you a ride home?"

BamBam glances over at Yugyeom, trying to gauge if the offer is sincere or if he's just being polite. They've only been in the coffee shop for about an hour, but the wind is already that much sharper, and he shivers despite his wool coat and thick scarf.

"Come on," Yugyeom says, tapping him lightly on the shoulder before withdrawing his gloved hand. "I feel bad enough for having a car in the city most of the time, at least help me justify it."

BamBam would give at least a token protest, but he's feeling a little chilled, less because of the weather though; it's more to do with his maudlin thoughts, so he accepts despite feeling a little embarrassed at the inconvenience. His apartment isn't exactly far away, but it's so convenient to reach with the subway that driving feels superfluous.

"You look a little sad," Yugyeom remarks when they stop at a red light, watching the traffic drive across the intersection. "The friend you mentioned, did they pass away?"

BamBam bites his lip, but the words are sitting on the tip of his tongue and it's been so long since he's told anyone a story. Once he starts, the words slip out one after the other, and before he knows it, they're idling in front of his apartment building. He falls silent, and Yugyeom turns off the engine.

"And he left you just like that?" Yugyeom says finally, glancing over at BamBam.

"Yes," BamBam says quietly, looking out the window of Yugyeom's car, over the roofs of the concrete buildings to the sky beyond, and the birds flying. "Just like that."

 

 

_"I saw the years of my life_   
_spaced along a road_   
_in the form of telephone poles_  
 _threaded together by wires._  
  
 _I counted one, two, three . . . nineteen telephone poles,_  
 _and then the wires dangled into space,_  
 _and try as I would,_  
 _I couldn't see a single pole beyond the nineteenth."_  
  
―Sylvia Plath [2]

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1 Excerpt from [The Dharma Bums](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/412732.The_Dharma_Bums) by Jack Kerouac.  [ return to text ]  
> 2 Excerpt from [The Bell Jar](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6514.The_Bell_Jar) by Sylvia Plath.  [ return to text ]


End file.
